


First Fight

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Foxtrot [8]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Dollhouse - Fandom
Genre: Gen, not actually RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 07:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: any, any, first fight. Set in SGA Season 5. John and Joe have a fight after Joe pulls a Cadman and takes his body out for a night on the town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Fight

As soon as John awoke, he knew something was amiss. His hair was damp, like he'd just taken a shower. He was face-down in his own bed, which wasn't that strange. But then he glanced at his watch (and getting the damn thing programmed to follow Atlantean time had been a bitch) and it was way past his wake-up time. How the hell had he overslept?  
  
Wait. No. That was wrong. Today was his designated Sunday. It was okay for him to sleep in.  
  
He went to heave himself up off the bed, and then he realized a couple of other things. One, his body was achy but sated, like he'd had a particularly vivid wet dream, but his sheets were clean. (He hadn't had wet dreams in a long time. A smart man took care of business during his morning shower.) And also, his chest and thighs were totally devoid of hair.  
  
What the hell?  
  
John scrambled to look at himself in the mirror. Same scruff on his face like every morning. But apparently last night he'd shaved and - if not a wet dream, had he had sex? With who? How? He hadn't gotten drunk. Had someone drugged his food? No, no one on Atlantis would do that. Atlantis would have warned him anyway if someone was going to try that.  
  
His hair was damp like he'd had a shower. But his own shower was dry. John yanked some clothes on - since when did he sleep naked? - and scrambled for his laptop. He typed a few commands to open an interface with Atlantis and demanded to see the security footage.  
  
Had dinner with his team. Check. Returned to his quarters to make some headway on _War and Peace_. Check. Fell asleep somewhere in the middle of a chapter. Check.  
  
Woke up and set the book aside. Okay. Not that weird. Sometimes he didn't quite remember settling himself to bed. If he was really tired, maybe one of the imprints took care of it. Stood up. What? Left his quarters. Walked to Lorne's quarters.  _What?_ Went inside and –  
  
The cameras had been cut off inside Lorne's quarters.  
  
John didn't remember it, any of it. Sleepwalking had never been his thing. One of the imprints was a sleepwalker, because said imprint had been created for a woman with a somnophilia fantasy. But he knew that wasn't what this was.  
  
_It wasn't me,_ the sleepwalking singer-songwriter insisted.  
  
Joe said, _It was me._  
  
John reared back in shock. "You?"  
  
_Yes, me._  
  
The fury that spiked through John's veins came out of nowhere. "How dare you! What the hell gives you the right –"  
  
_To use my own body?_  
  
John stopped short.  
  
_I'm not like the others, John. They were made to be you, for you to be them. All of them have pieces of you to make them real. They're versions of you that fit some paying customer's fantasy. So they're okay with you feeding them scraps once in a while - playing piano here, dancing there._  
  
John blinked. "But I thought you were all okay with it. I let you guys have fun. We all have fun together, right?"  
  
The other imprints offered tentative agreement, but Joe overrode them before they could speak.  
  
_I've been in here for decades. That horrible feeling you got when you were sitting in the back seat and Thelan was driving like a bat out of hell? That's what it's like for me every day. This life you're living - it should have been mine._  
  
"Have you done this before?"  
  
_No._  
  
"Did you sleep with Lorne?"  
  
_That's none of your business._  
  
"None of my business? Are you insane?" John shoved his chair back and rose up, began pacing the length of his room. "If you let something slip to Lorne - if he lets spill that we violated regs, or that you're crazy, they'll bust us down and send us back to Earth. Back to where the Dollhouse can get us. That's why we agreed I stay in charge. Because as long as I'm in charge, we can stay out here, where it's safe."  
  
_I'm lonely._

John had been stabbed once. Those two words hurt worse.  
  
The other imprints swarmed around Joe, anxious and earnest and ready to comfort, ready to please.  
  
_It's been so long since I've felt anything. Anyone. Since anyone has touched me. The last thing I remember feeling was Topher patting me on the head condescendingly before he put me down in the chair._  
  
John sank down on the edge of his bed, buried his face in his hands.  
  
_I'm sorry. I just couldn't stand it anymore. I had to –_ And then Joe was crying, and because Joe was crying, John was crying. Ugly, heaving, gulping sobs that he hadn't cried since his mother died.  
  
_Every day you have Teyla and Ronon and Rodney, and I don't even exist to them. Can’t, to keep us safe,_ Joe whispered. _I’m sorry._  
  
John’s face was embarrassingly wet. He scrubbed his palm over his eyes. “No, I'm sorry, Joe. But what you did was so dangerous.”  
  
_I know. It won't happen again. It should be enough to get me through for a while. A few decades, right?_ Joe tried to laugh, but it came out like a sniffle.  
  
“No, that’s not fair.” John stood up and started pacing again. “At least you had the foresight to pick the night before a designated Sunday.” He thought quickly. The law clerk piped up with a discussion about schedules and efficiency, and some of the others joined in. Expedition members were supposed to have a designated Sunday once every eight days. If a designated Sunday was missed due to an emergency or other unforeseen circumstances, then an expedition member was given a designated Saturday and Sunday when the next eight days had passed, so as to keep them on schedule with their own teams and crews as much as possible. "Look, I do need to be in control as much as possible. But whenever you feel yourself getting –" antsy lonely desperate - "let me know, and we can work something out. On a designated weekend."  
  
Joe lit up like a small sun. _Okay. Thank you._  
  
"I'm sorry," John said again. He stared at himself in the mirror once more. Would the real John Sheppard have looked like this at this age? John and Joe had been similar-looking enough in college that sometimes people thought they were twins, but now he and Dave looked nothing alike. "I should have been more sensitive -"  
  
_John Sheppard? Sensitive?_ Joe asked.  
  
"I'm not Rodney."  
  
_Didn't say you were._  
  
Joe sounded like he was smiling again. Good. John remembered he'd been a really sweet kid.  
  
John scratched his stomach idly and was disconcerted by the lack of hair. His transgender imprint was pretty pleased, though.  
  
"What exactly did you and Lorne do?"


End file.
